


Red

by smolgeese



Category: Universal Century Gundam
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolgeese/pseuds/smolgeese
Summary: In Which Char Has His Chance To Kill Garma(But he doesn't do it.)(Why the hell doesn't he do it?)
Relationships: Char Aznable/Garma Zabi
Kudos: 19





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO. I've been lurking in this tag for months now but finally got drunk enough to write something/give back to this very small and beautiful Garma community. All my actual Gundam details are probs wrong and so is my formatting, but please enjoy this humble offering.

He rather liked it.  
Not just the blood-red sunset. But the fact that he was finally, finally Char Aznable.  
Casval Rem Deikun wasn’t dead, not quite, but for the first time, he finally felt like Char, like the man he had been pretending to be. Like the man he had killed. For the first time, he felt real. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a ghost.  
He liked it, the red sky and the bodies at his feet and the power in his veins until . . .  
Until . . .  
Until he turned, the sunset still bright in his eyes, and saw Garma, Until he saw Garma with his eyes rolling back and his cheeks flushing feverish red, falling back into his brother’s arms.  
Until he saw Garma’s lips, still parted, like they were calling out his name.  
Char had been trained for plenty of things—skirmishes and drone battles and sudden rebellions—but nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had prepared him for the odd skip of his heart that he felt when he saw his roommate collapse, and nothing had prepared him for the strange, unattainable grief he would feel when he suddenly had everything he ever wanted. He was doing this for Artesia. He was doing this for his mother. For his father. He was doing what he had always done, but no one ever told him it would feel so wrong.  
From his perch at the Federation’s barracks, he looked back at Garma,  
And he had no other choice.  
He ran.  
He ran back toward Zeon. Toward the people who killed his father. Toward the people he wanted to kill.  
He ran back to Garma.  
By the time he made it back, Garma was already unconscious. “You stupid kid,” Dozle was still muttering, even as he ran a massive hand through Garma’s hair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”  
“Is he okay?” Char asked. He looked more toward Zenna than Dozle, knowing that he had a better shot with his honey-haired classmate than he did with the lieutenant of the Zeon cadets—than he did with Garma’s brother.  
“I think he’s just exhausted,” Zenna said.  
She glanced toward Dozle, who was still cradling Garma in his arms, as if he was little more than a limp baby doll. “Lieutenant, if I can ask for one more favor for the night . . . might Char take Master Garma back to Dorm One for the night?”  
When Zenna arched a seductive eyebrow, Char pretended not to notice.  
“Of course,” Dozle said, giving Char a knowing nod. “But report to my quarters tomorrow, cadet, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be lenient on you just because my brother likes you.”  
“Yes, Sir,” Char said, biting at the inside of his cheek.  
Garma’s influence, the power of the Zabi’s . . . he couldn’t deny that he liked it.  
On the tank ride back to the dorms, Garma stayed slumped against Char’s shoulder. And while Char couldn’t say that he liked it, he also couldn’t deny that he was worried about the bleariness in Garma’s eyes. About the paleness of his skin. About the warmth of his cheeks.  
When they reached their dorm, Char nodded toward Dozle. “I know we’ll face consequences for our actions. But for tonight—”  
“We’ll deal with this in the morning,” Dozle said. He shoved Garma toward Char—and looked pointedly toward Zenna. “Correct?”  
“Yes, Sir,” Char said again, already wrapping a protective arm around Garma. “I’ll take care of him.”  
“You better,” Dozle muttered and once again, Char pretended not to notice when Zenna followed him to his quartiers.  
Char hooked his arms through Garma’s as he carried him up the steps toward their room, holding him up. “Are you okay?”  
“Char . . .” Garma said softly, his voice breaking. “I didn’t think you’d stay with me.”  
I stayed because of you, Char thought for a moment. Because you’re a murderer. Because you’re complicit.  
Because I hate you. Because I want to kill you. Because you’re a Zabi and I hate all the Zabis.  
I stayed because . . .  
“You did great today,” Char said. He brought a hand up to run through Garma’s hair, his fingers pausing at the softness of the purple tresses.  
Garma was soft. Sweet. Tender.  
But this was it.  
This was Char’s chance. He could have just left Garma on the cold dorm room floor, if he wanted to. He could have left him there to shiver and rot. But . . .  
But he took Garma into their shared dorm room and settled him down onto his own bed, because it was easier than dragging Garma up onto the top bunk. He looked exhausted, with dark bags under his eyes and creases between his brows, and his cheeks were stained a feverish pink.  
“Char . . .” Garma said again. His voice was shaking with fierce determination, like he thought they were still on the battlefield. “Did we win?”  
His eyes were fluttering shut before Char had time to answer.  
“Of course you did,” Char said.  
He leaned forward, pulling the stiff dorm room sheets up over Garma’s shoulders. He pulled them up farther than he should have, his touch lingering for a moment too long. When he leaned forward to kiss Garma’s forehead, his lips stayed longer than they should have. He loved Garma more than he should have, but . . .  
But when he pulled away, he felt a little bit of redness singing in his brain.  
And what was what he wanted, wasn’t it?


End file.
